


Inquietude

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drama, Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Self-Loathing, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There is a reason Aziraphale is so apprehensive about his feelings for Crowley. It's not just the fact they're an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, or even Heaven's politics gnawing at his head. It's more than that. The truth is Aziraphale already found his soulmate in the archangel Gabriel, and they have been married for six thousand years, a bond officiated by the Almighty Herself. And, as such, it is holy, pure, sacred, and must not be tainted.Does it matter, though? Soulmate bonding, does it matter, when the heart has a Free Will of its own?Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme on Dreamwidth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56
Collections: Anonymous, Good Omens Kink Meme





	Inquietude

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I would enjoy romance between Aziraphale and Gabriel, but then [this](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=823656#cmt823656) prompt fell into my lap and now I can't get enough of this couple! I'm _craving_ more of them! A big shout out for the anon who prompted this, for expanding my horizon!
> 
> Once again, thank you for my dear friend A., who always supports me and my writing. ILY!

_Quiet, subtle, dawdling.  
Furtive, intense, consuming.  
Until  
It’s enormous.  
Until  
It’s **everything**.”_  
  
—

“God. Save me from temptation. Allow your child to not act in disgrace. Save your child’s weak flesh from withering in this sickness called desire, for not all alluring imagery are holy…”

The prayer wasn’t more than a soft whisper. It terrified her, that the reason for her shame might be heard by unwanted ears. She confided in God and God alone, as she always had done, as she always would do. That’s why her preferred time for visiting were early rainy Monday mornings such as today, when the church was at its empiest.

Unfortunately for her, that much desired privacy was unachievable if an ethereal being happened to be close by. Angels had a particularly acute sense for prayers, especially the genuine ones. It wouldn’t matter how softly she whispered or how close to her chest she kept the true words of her prayer, the principality sitting a few benches behind her could still hear everything.

For the sake of her privacy, though, Aziraphale willed himself ignorable and kept quiet.

“My God,” she continued, “I beg you wisdom. Guide me. Show me the path of love, show me its worth, for this sinner asks for forgiveness…”

She was a poet even in her prayers. She was gracious. She had a beautiful soul. She couldn’t see how beautiful and pure she was, crushed under the all-consuming shame, and Aziraphale had to resist the urge to get up and comfort her.

What could he say, really? That she had no reason to ask for forgiveness, when she hadn’t done anything?

Not yet, he could imagine Crowley saying. He would smirk and lower his head just a tad bit, just to let Aziraphale see the devious mirth in his golden eyes. She asks for forgiveness now, Angel, because she knows she hasn’t done anything _yet_.

Doesn’t mean she will, Aziraphale would counter, clinging to his beliefs on the virtues of humans. They were supposed to be abundant.

Oh, she will, Crowley would say, with that all-knowing expression of his, of when he won a bet or an argument and was feeling showy about it. The discussion would end there, mostly because Aziraphale would’ve lost the strength to argue. When it came to human sin, Crowley was the expert between the two of them. Actually, when it came to humans in general, when it came to _desire_ , he always knew so much more than Aziraphale.

His throat tightened in compassion for the young woman. Empathy rose from inside his chest, raw understanding coming from so deep within him it was almost suffocating. He didn’t think about it, about how this woman’s situation was so familiar to his own (which made the reason she drew so much of his attention); he wouldn’t allow himself to.

(I’m not a human.)

Aziraphale was an Angel of the Lord. He blessed, he ignored, he suffered, and he did nothing.

(Not yet, Angel.)

“Aziraphale.” The familiar presence appeared suddenly next to him. “Sweetheart.”

Aziraphale tried not to startle too much. “Gabriel, oh. Hi.”

Gabriel carried a broad smile with him, not the cheeky one Aziraphale and the rest of Heaven were used to, that condescending one. No, he wouldn’t smile like that for Aziraphale, not today.

“Did I startle you?” Gabriel asked.

“Not at all,” he tried, wincing at his own poor attempt at lying. The visit was expected, of course—he came to that church to wait for Gabriel, as he’d done so many times in the past. However, as the years went by, it was becoming more and more difficult to not startle when his husband materialised on Earth, whether announced or not.

What if someday Gabriel showed up when Aziraphale was… accompanied?

“Well, a little bit,” Aziraphale relented. “I was just so fixated on that lovely lady over there… I stopped paying attention to anything else, really.”

“And what is happening over there that is stealing your attention from me?” Not waiting for an answer, Gabriel turned to her. His eyes, mind and angelic energy focused entirely on the last of her prayers, much like Aziraphale had been doing ever since the moment she stepped on that church. “Huh. What a shame.”

“Poor thing.” Aziraphale wasn’t so harsh. “Such a beautiful soul, too, didn’t you see?”

“I saw you took pity on this… beautiful soul. You even blessed her cat? The last time I saw so many blessings with your signature in a single human was, what, during the black plague?”

“Don’t mock. You weren’t down here living those times like I did. If you must know—”

“Dire times demand drastic measures,” Gabriel said, imitating the way Aziraphale spoke. “I know, I know, my principality. I heard it a thousand times already.”

Aziraphale made a face. “Those doctors needed to be alive and healthy in order to take care of the sick. If what I did was anything, it was good.”

“And I signed all the papers justifying all your good deeds, didn’t I?”

“After a lot of convincing, you did.”

“Don’t pout, my love.”

“I’m not pouting,” Aziraphale said, even though he definitely was.

Gabriel let out a humorous laughter. He was in a good mood. The young devout, upon finishing the most personal bits of her prayer, crossed herself and recited The Lord’s Prayer once, a little more loudly.

“She should know better,” Gabriel said, now watching her attentively. “Unfaithfulness to a spouse will lead her soul nowhere near Heaven.”

“She knows that. That’s why she came here: in search of guidance and solace. She’s the one hurting the most, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel crossed his arms. “If you say so. If that pain is genuine, that is.”

“Everything about her is genuine.”

Gabriel stared at him. Perhaps Aziraphale said it with a bit more enthusiasm than he intended. “You’re really moved by this one human, aren’t you, my love?”

“I am,” Aziraphale admitted.

While looking into her soul, he also saw her life. She had been happy, once. She married young. They had a perfect life decorated in sparkly jewelry and international travels, but one that also meant a lot of lost opportunities. A life that demanded absolute dedication and rewarded with empty-mindedness and harsh judgement. She had wanted kids once, five or six years ago, but now she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t sure of anything in her life anymore. She was in love with someone else.

“I’m just saying, my archangel…” Aziraphale took Gabriel’s hands in his, looking straight into his eyes. “There isn’t much I, as a principality, can do in this case. But if such an honest, beautiful, poetic little soul seeks guidance from our forces, shouldn’t _we_ do _all we could_ to guide her? To lead her away from… from…” Mistakes? Sins? Hell?

(From Falling?)

Aziraphale successfully suppressed a shudder.

Gabriel’s purple eyes locked with his blue ones. The woman got up from her seat, crossed herself again, and passed by the two invisible angelic beings on her way out.

Gabriel didn’t say anything, but Aziraphale felt it when he did it. “Did you just intervene?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Gabriel said. “Angels aren’t supposed to intervene, much less archangels. I just… contributed to your little blessing fest a little.” He winked—actually _winked_. “Help clear her mind.”

“Oh! My husband,” Aziraphale said, breathless, delighted. “I always know I can count on you to set the example to us angels.”

Gabriel smiled, leaning his back more comfortably on the bench. He wanted to look relaxed, but Aziraphale knew better: he was just proud. Oh, how his archangel loved being praised. It was the most effective way to appease him in whatever situation, too, something Aziraphale learned over millennia, both in heavenly and in marital matters. This time, though, he didn’t use it as a tactic. This time, he really loved Gabriel for helping such a deserving soul.

(I love him, that’s right. I always have.)

“I brought you something,” Gabriel said. He snapped his fingers and a big bouquet appeared right in Aziraphale’s hands. Upon seeing the flowers, Aziraphale’s face fell a little. If he had a heart, it would have skipped a beat.

White heliotropes. Aziraphale knew the name because Crowley had given him a bouquet of those not a fortnight ago.

He’d been in a flower phase lately. He found a new apartment and was experimenting with different species there. Apparently, the challenge Crowley set himself was to have exotic species thriving even in adverse conditions—meaning London’ terrible weather—solely by the sheer power of threats.

Well, he was succeeding so far. His collection only grew: calliandras, zinnias, moon flowers of all colors and even a corpse flower that didn’t dare smell like it was supposed to, all had decorated Aziraphale’s bookshop over the months. Currently, a beautiful set of kadupul flowers assumed the position, and they displayed an incredible sense of duty in doing so; Crowley told Aziraphale that without proper ‘incentive’ that species only lasted one night, but Crowley’s flowers had yet to show signs of withering even after two months of blooming.

And Crowley’s bouquets were so much nicer than this one… And they usually came with chocolates or some other minor treat.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale managed a toothy grin. “These are beautiful.”

Gabriel’s chest rose with a proud intake of breath. He lifted and turned Aziraphale’s face to him with a light touch on the principality’s chin.  
“I knew you’d like it. You look so happy right now I could kiss you.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, Aziraphale thought Gabriel would do just that, kiss him. He didn’t—of course he didn’t, Gabriel would never. Not in a church. The archangel’s opinion was that kisses, even chaste ones, tainted the holy sanctuary of a church. Those displays of affection were meant for private chambers, and only if blessed by the holy matrimony. The archangel’s word was final on that matter. Aziraphale was tired of knowing this.

What surprised him was the mild disappointment at not being kissed. He thought he would be used to it by now.

Gabriel took Aziraphale’s hand and guided him outside. “Come on, sweetheart. I only got one day off. Time here on Earth goes by so fast, and we already lost too much of it with that poor soul of yours. We have no more time to waste.”

“A day? Really? That’s all?”

Gabriel nodded, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. “Now, don’t be like that. Let’s just enjoy the time we have.”

“I’m not like anything,” Aziraphale said, even though he was now, on top of mildly disappointed, also annoyed.

“Aziraphale.”

“I’m not complaining, Gabriel.” And neither would he. Not of Heaven’s oh so kind _one_ day off granted to his husband. It wasn’t like it had been one hundred and thirty years since the last time Gabriel had a day off. It wasn’t like Aziraphale had more than a handful of days off in six thousand years. It wasn’t like Heaven kept Gabriel so occupied that he only visited the principality stationed on Earth occasionally, and only to check on his reports or his overall performance. It was fine, really, to have one gracious day after one hundred and thirty years of not having his husband around. How kind.

“You don’t have to complain out loud for me to know you’re upset, not when you’re making that face of yours again.”

“I’m not making any face. I don’t even know what face that is.”

Gabriel squeezed his hand a bit tighter. “Aziraphale. Please don’t be like that. You don’t know how hard it was to get this one day off, my love. Please, let’s just make the best of it.”

Aziraphale’s anger deflated. The air he didn’t really need left his lungs along with his resolve to pick a pointless fight. “Sorry,” he said, trying not to think about how with Crowley, those problems didn’t really exist. With Crowley, all it took was a phone call and he could have a dinner date, or a walk in the park, or even someone to chit-chat over wine. “It’s just. I just—“

It’s just I’m not even sure a single day is worth all the wait; it’s just I’m not even sure I missed you all that much, he didn’t say.

“I know.” Gabriel caressed his cheek, softly, tenderly. “I miss you too, sweetheart. All the time.”

Aziraphale thought he would get to be kissed then, but again was left hanging. Arms linked, he allowed Gabriel to guide him on a walk around the city. Gabriel acted as if he was more familiar with Paris—Aziraphale’s choice, one he vehemently insisted on, unable to stomach doing this in London, a city that wasn’t only his anymore—than the angel permanently stationed on Earth.

Truth was, Aziraphale dropped by the city of romance for a bite or two at least once a month (and often not alone), but he didn’t comment on it.

He let Gabriel brief him on the most recent (and, frankly, uninteresting) affairs in Heaven. They were preparing for the Apocalypse, as always, though no one was sure of when it would happen. They were debating whether to set a department for Religion Scrutinization or something, because apparently humans were overwhelming the angels upstairs in that regard as well.

“It’s just there are so many of those now,” Gabriel explained. “And not all of them follow the same coding, you know? It’s always a detail here, a misinterpretation there, or an unethical ritual, and there, an entire religious segment annulled and we have to separate the truly devout from the opportunists. And then every undeserving soul waiting for their ticket to Paradise has to be conducted to Hell, can you imagine the paperwork? It’s a nuisance. I wish humans stopped being ridiculous and accepted the Almighty is in every form of faith. Their stupid complicated rules and selective reading aren’t doing anything for them.”

“Well, that’s just humans for you.” Aziraphale tried patting his husband’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. “They need answers and rules for everything, and when what they find doesn't align with what they already believe, they just go and make new answers and new rules.”

“You could do it.”

“New rules?”

“Run this new department. You already know so much about humans from being here for so long.”

“I don’t think so, Gabriel.”

“Really, it would be nothing for you. We could easily set you up, replace you down here. You get to go upstairs and abandon Earth forever and be—”

Aziraphale stopped on his tracks. “I would never!” 

“—with me.”

“I-I mean…” Aziraphale breathed, embarrassed. He tried not to think about how devastating it would be, for him, to have to abandon Earth, its food, its music, its humans and, especially, its one resident demon for… for a boring bureaucratic position in boring old Heaven. “You know what I think about that, dear. Earth is my jurisdiction. I’d never abandon it.”

Gabriel looked at him for a long moment, just stared, as if he were trying to understand what was on Aziraphale’s mind.

It was a good thing, Aziraphale thought, that angels weren’t capable to see the depths of other angels, as they could do with humans.

Eventually, Gabriel sighed. “I know, I know. You love it here, don’t you?”

Four thousand years ago, Aziraphale would try to explain to his husband how there were so many wonderful things to love about Earth. Three thousand years ago, he’d tell Gabriel something in the lines of, “If you just spent a couple of decades here with me, my dear, you’d see,” but all those attempts were only rewarded with scorn and disbelief. So he gave up sometime around 500 BC.

Around the time he became close to another being who shared the same feelings about Earth.

“I do,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel’s hands cupped his face. “Then you don’t have to go back.” He moved forward, as if to kiss Aziraphale’s lips, but frustratingly, annoyingly, only kissed his forehead.

After that, Gabriel dropped the subject entirely and guided Aziraphale to the other side of town. They passed by several nice, little, very inviting restaurants on their way, but Aziraphale was left wanting as they kept their pace. Gabriel didn’t eat, he didn’t see the point. He didn’t enjoy watching Aziraphale eating either.

“Finally,” Gabriel said once they arrived at the Eiffel Tower. “I didn’t think this giant thing would be that far from where we met.”

“It isn’t. Were you trying to bring me here all this time?”

“No,” Gabriel said, but Aziraphale saw right through him. “I was enjoying our walk together.”

“Right.” If you’d just told me where we were going I’d have guided you here, Aziraphale left unsaid, rolling his eyes, but chuckling despite himself. Gabriel and his silly sense of pride.

They took the elevators to get up there, as if they were a pair of human tourists. Aziraphale only noted the lack of people in the tower when they arrived at the top: the terrace and everything surrounding was completely empty. The husbands were all alone in the most well-known, most everyday-packed-with-tourists place in Paris.

He turned to Gabriel, eyes wide. “Did you…?”

Gabriel’s face broke into a wide, quite smug grin. It was filled in equal parts with cockiness and love. “Did I what?”

“Miracled this place empty…? For us…?”

Gabriel took Aziraphale’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “Miracled it empty? No.” He punctuated every few words with a quick, soft, chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s hand, on his fingers, his palm, his wrist. “Used up a few favors I was owed upstairs to, uh… _influence_ humans to think the most romantic place in all Paris wouldn’t really be all that interesting for a couple of hours? Well, if you want to put it that way.”

“Gabriel…”

Gabriel pulled him closer, embracing him in his middle with one arm, his other hand still holding Aziraphale’s close to his lips. “One hundred and thirty years, my love. You think I don’t pay attention, but I do.”

Aziraphale needed an intake of breath, nevermind he didn’t actually need to breathe. He barely managed it. He pulled his husband closer, hugging him tightly, burying his face on the archangel’s shoulder.

Oh, he was terrible. Oh, he was the vilest creature in the history of existence. The audacity of him, thinking and comparing and almost _wishing_ for somebody else, when he had the perfect husband already. Mourning for a hypothetical dinner in a nice little restaurant because Gabriel didn’t eat, Gabriel thought it repulsive—well, Aziraphale was more repulsive. The spoiled little low-ranking angel that he was, corrupting his own mind just because his husband couldn’t be there for him all the time. Oh, Aziraphale was the worst. He was the worst.

(God, show me the path of love, show me its worth, for this sinner asks for forgiveness…)

“Aziraphale? My principality?” Gabriel hugged him back, clutching Aziraphale tightly against himself, protective. “Is everything alright? You didn’t like it?”

(Please, forgive me.)

“I loved it, my archangel,” Aziraphale said, between dry hiccups. He wasn’t weeping, he was just… overwhelmed. “Thank you, my dear.”

Gabriel kissed the top of his head. They stayed like that for a long time, just embracing each other, basking on the warmth, comfort and closeness both desperately needed after more than a century being deprived of this. Aziraphale felt like crying. He wanted some music so they could dance like that a little, but angels weren’t supposed to dance.

Eventually, Gabriel led him to a corner. They leaned on the parapet, Aziraphale’s back to Gabriel’s chest, quietly watching the heavy clouds decorating that rainy day and the movement down there in the city. The horizon was just grey.

“Tell me again the story of our wedding, my archangel,” Aziraphale said after perhaps one or two hours of them just standing there.

Gabriel kissed the top of his head once more. Gabriel loved telling that story to anyone who asked. Aziraphale loved hearing it. His memories prior to and of the war that resulted in the split between Heaven and Hell were all whipped out, a response caused by trauma, and the ones following The Fall were all fuzzy. He was still recovering when the angels started to fall. He loved hearing the stories Gabriel told him; they made him feel more connected to that part of him that was supposed to be Heaven’s obedient angel.

“Shortly after the War, after the Almighty has cast all the Fallen out of Heaven. The Split was pretty gruesome, most of us were pretty battered. Michael’s wounds were so deep and so… unholy, it took her years to completely recover. And you, Aziraphale… you were one of the principalities on the front lines. You were so wounded, too.”

All Aziraphale remembered of the war were screams, being attacked and blood, so much blood. He didn’t remember faces or voices or even the army that was with him on the front lines. He didn’t remember any of the fallen angels, only their blood mixed with Heaven’s angels’ own. He didn’t know if he personally attacked Crowley or any of the other demons he had met while on Earth, but he didn’t ask Gabriel about that. He remembered blood and terror. He remembered all the reasons war could never be a good thing.

“During the days following the war, my love, you barely woke up. When you did seem conscious, your words didn’t make sense. Your wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding. I was so afraid. I was terrified that you may not survive, I had never even contemplated the idea that an angel might die, and the thought of you… leaving me… That’s when I realized I was in love with you.” Gabriel hugged him even tighter, if that was even possible. “I asked the Almighty, I begged Her to spare your life. I told Her I needed to see you once, to ask your hand in marriage or at least say goodbye properly. The Almighty was kind to me that day. Do you remember, Aziraphale, my proposal?”

Aziraphale was bedridden and weak, still trembling from the memories of blood and screams, but he did remember the promise in Gabriel’s purple eyes. The promise of a lifetime of love and hope and an actual _after_ , after all that… terror. Aziraphale took his first breath of hope when Gabriel kneeled for his hand. “Yes. I remember.”

“The Almighty was generous to us. She allowed you to recover faster than everyone thought it was possible. Once you were feeling a bit better, I took us to the Metatron. The Almighty herself blessed our union. A true celestial blessed-by-God marriage, one of the few Heaven has seen to this day.”

“I was so weak. I’m sorry I couldn’t even say my vows right, dear.” He passed out of exertion not a minute after leaving the Metatron’s and the Almighty’s presence.

“It’s quite alright, my love. I’m sorry I was impatient. I just needed you, I needed to have you, to make sure you were with me, where I could keep you safe forever. I should have waited a little longer.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I was so happy. Gabriel, you made me so happy that day.”

“You make me happy everyday since, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale didn’t even realize he was hanging by a thread until his eyes simply soaked and leaked immodestly, as if they were entitled to. He was so happy. He was such a happy angel. Gabriel made him happy, once. They had the perfect life together, but then Aziraphale had to go and ruin it. He missed it. He missed being with his husband, missed walking with his husband, missed being held, being loved and loving back. He loved Gabriel, he truly did. He loved Gabriel, once, but even the absolute consciousness that he truly, deeply, indubitably loved his husband with all his being didn’t change the fact that deep, deep down, he wished it was Crowley holding him on top of a romantically empty Eiffel Tower.

What a vile creature he was.

“Sweetheart.” Gabriel turned him around, cupping his cheeks. He kissed his forehead, his eyebrows, the tip of his nose. “Oh, my love. My principality. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I miss loving you.”

Gabriel didn’t see the dubious meaning of his words. He didn’t see the vile creature he had wedded. Gabriel smiled, thumbs caressing Aziraphale’s cheeks in the gentlest, most affable gesture Aziraphale had received in one hundred and thirty years, and drew him closer. “Oh, Aziraphale. I miss loving you too.”

Finally, finally, after one bloody hundred and thirty terrible years, after two World Wars and decades of longing and silently despairing, Aziraphale was kissed.

Perhaps he was a spoiled little brat who didn’t know how to handle himself properly. Perhaps he was a hedonist. Aziraphale didn’t know what he was exactly, or what his place could be, but at that moment, he wished it could be in Gabriel’s arms. Gabriel’s corporation was tall and muscular, his arms enveloped Aziraphale in a way that made him feel he could forget himself between them. Gabriel was an archangel, strong and wise and powerful, one of Heaven’s house names. No matter how he thought about it, Gabriel could protect him, and it felt so good Gabriel chose Aziraphale to wed. He couldn’t sully that bond. He couldn’t stain the Almighty’s blessing—angels weren’t even supposed to exercise their free will.

“Gabriel,” he mumbled between kisses, or something close to it. He was still sobbing. “Gabriel, please…”

“Where do you want to go?”

Anywhere, anywhere. Don’t think of London. Don’t think of sins or demons. “Bed.”

Gabriel miracled them both on Aziraphale’s bed, at his little apartment on top of his bookshop. Aziraphale cursed at himself—of course Gabriel would. He didn’t know many places on Earth. Aziraphale wasn’t even sure he was acquainted with the concept of hotels. If he were more attentive, if only his mind hadn’t been in sinful places, Aziraphale would have booked a room for them both in Paris.

Gabriel’s kisses changed, as usual, the moment they were secluded between four walls. He was all teeth and tongue now, his kisses hungrier, sloppier, needier. Aziraphale had taught Gabriel a long time ago about the pleasures of corporation-lovemaking. It took him centuries to figure that one out, much more time than food—he only had the embarrassing second-hand tales of the few humans brazen enough to tell him, or the occasional, and equally embarrassing, stumble on human “acts-of-desire”. Gabriel didn’t mind how he came to know of such a thing, it didn’t matter; he soon became quite the enthusiast himself.

“Sweetheart,” Gabriel said between mouthfuls of Aziraphale, because he knew Aziraphale liked it, to be called sweet things while they made love.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale murmured, moaned, because he knew Gabriel liked the same things he did. “My husband, you’re so beautiful.” Which was true. Gabriel’s corporation was gorgeous, stunning.

They were in the process of undressing each other, unashamedly rubbing their bodies on that one place their desire matched, when the telephone downstairs on the bookshop interrupted them.

“Sorry, my dear.”

“No, don’t go,” Gabriel protested, mouthing Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Sorry. It will be quick, I promise. I’ll be with you in a minute, dear.” Aziraphale disentangled from the mess of half-removed clothes and limbs. He knew Gabriel’s thought just from the face he made: you and this bookshop of yours, Aziraphale. Gabriel was annoyed.

No matter. Aziraphale needed to take this. His heart raced. He knew who it could be. He needed to take this or he was at risk that the caller would show up later, something that was quickly becoming a routine. He couldn’t have that happening now.

“I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed,” Aziraphale said upon picking up, a little more loudly than necessary.

“Finally! Angel, I’ve been calling all day. Where were you? I swear I’m gonna make some human invent some sort of… mobile telephone or something, just so you can carry it around with you.”

Oh, that voice. _That voice_. “Aa-h, yes, s-sir. I’m afraid w-we’re unable to make sales at this hour, we, er… are closed.”

There was a pause on the other line before Crowley finally answered. “Alright, sir,” he intoned the word sir, in mockery, “I see how it is. Sorry to be of disturbance at such an untimely hour.”

Aziraphale’s legs trembled. He tried to maintain a professional tone while keeping track of Gabriel’s movements. His husband was still upstairs. He wasn’t the reason his legs trembled so much. “I-I’m t-the one who should apologize, sir. I’m a-afraid we forgot to, er… put up a sign.”

“Where were you?” Crowley asked, quietly, certainly picking up on Aziraphale’s tone and the constant use of ‘sir’ instead of ‘dear’.

“P-Paris.”

Crowley couldn’t have taken more than a moment or two to say something. It felt like a whole month. “Your husband is in there.”

Aziraphale’s voice faltered. “Yes.”

Crowley sighed, loudly. Then grunted. Aziraphale heard a thud. “Alright. Sorry I called.”

“Cro— I mean, sir, please—”

“Enjoy your night, Angel.”

When Aziraphale went back upstairs, his urge to cry had doubled—no, it tripled. His legs shook so hard it was difficult to climb up the stairs, and shamefully, dishonorably, his cock was so damn hard.

He swallowed it all in—the shame, the frustration, the longing—and entered the bedroom with a toothy smile. “Sorry to leave you waiting.”

Gabriel was sprawled in bed, legs apart. His penis was erect. It was large, veiny and thick, the very way Aziraphale asked it to be—not only he liked it that way, he thought it quite suited Gabriel’s robust corporation.

“No problem at all.” Gabriel held his own erection, moving his hand up and down just a little bit, just to tease. “The wait only made me want you more.”

Gabriel had that overconfident smile plastered all over his face, like he knew what he was able to do to Aziraphale just with those small gestures. Oh, it was as sexy as it was annoying, mostly because it was true. Gabriel liked to be talked to during sex, but Aziraphale didn’t feel like talking—didn’t trust himself to—so he quickly made a job of removing the rest of his clothes and fall over, mouth first, on Gabriel’s cock.

“Oh. Oh, my love. Yes!” Gabriel grabbed Aziraphale’s hair, not too softly nor too strongly. Not in order to guide Aziraphale’s motions, just to be touching him. Aziraphale bobbed up and down fast, letting drool mixed with Gabriel’s fluids slick everything. He took good care of his husband’s cock, sucking on the big, red, throbbing head while pumping the base with both hands. He licked Gabriel’s sack, pumped him harder, teased his hole, until Gabriel was squirming, begging him. Then, only then, Aziraphale swallowed him whole again, letting the throbbing prick spill everything it was bottling up deep down his throat.

Gabriel was left a limp, moaning, flushing mess under his ministrations. Aziraphale smiled, a Gabriel-like kind of smile. “Not so cocky anymore, huh, my dear?”

The archangel laughed. “Give me three more minutes and I’ll take care of you next,” he promised, and he delivered. If they hadn’t been married for six thousand years, Aziraphale would never guess how horny Gabriel could be. Marriage was the key to his arousal, he once told Aziraphale.

Aziraphale first was mouthed all over, licked and kissed and sucked everywhere. His body seemed to wake up under Gabriel’s touch, as if finally remembering the real reason he was made for: for his husband. Gabriel put him on his side and played with his asshole languidly, stretching him, while his other hand caressed the top of Aziraphale’s leaking prick. Then, holding one of Aziraphale’s legs over his own shoulder, Gabriel entered him for the first time in more than a century.

“Aah…” Aziraphale hadn’t been aware, although he imagined, of how much he needed this until before he felt the familiar length invading him. Gabriel was big, thick and hot, so very hot. He was everything Aziraphale needed to take his mind out of disturbing thoughts, to keep him grounded into the right path.

“Talk to me,” Gabriel said, panting. “Tell me how I make you feel, my principality.”

“Gabriel, aah…” Aziraphale couldn’t talk. He was trying to stay on the right path, trying to ignore the troublesome flashes of imagery that appeared uninvited, sometimes accompanied by _that_ voice. “Please, my archangel,” he begged, “I don’t want to think.”

Gabriel kissed the side of his calf. “I can do that.” He moved Aziraphale until he had him on all fours.

“Oh, yeah. Gabriel, yes! Yes, yes, yes!” Aziraphale screamed as Gabriel went full force on him, clutching his hips so hard, thrusting inside him with so much raw want, it showed all the decades he endured in deprivation. Aziraphale came undone without even being touched, losing himself on the way Gabriel’s member rubbed inside him in all the right places, over and over and over and over again. Gabriel followed him shortly after.

Lovemaking for Gabriel was something sacred, something he usually liked to take slow, so as to let them both enjoy themselves under the building excitation, until they burst together in that lovely passionate ache. Still, he grinned satisfied as both of them fell on the bed, side by side, panting heavily.

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said a name, and could only trust it was the right one, too out of it to even acknowledge the awful ache Gabriel’s words lightened in his chest.

He only realized he fell asleep when he woke up. It was nighttime, though Aziraphale had no idea of the actual hour. Gabriel slept beside him, proud nakedness and all the evidence of their heavy lovemaking uncovered for anyone to see. Both angels weren’t quite keen to sleep, but their corporations asked for it after releasing all that boiling frustration.

Aziraphale tried to fall asleep again, to no success. He tried rolling around, finding a new position, maybe hugging his husband’s sleeping form would help. It didn’t. His mind was clearer now, but that didn’t mean it was less chaotic. That entire day and all the feelings attached to it wouldn’t leave him alone, and no matter how much he tried to fight it, there was one simple want overflowing his mind.

Perhaps some tea would help. That’s what he told himself, at least, nevermind he passed right by the place for tea making, i.e. the kitchen he kept upstairs, and went downstairs instead.

(Vile creature, vile creature. Forgive me…)

Oh, but the want was so bad. It ached.

The telephone was a gift from Crowley. He rarely used it, not quite learning all the tricks to it yet, so he needed two tries in order to reach the other end of the line.

“What issss it?” The demon hissed as a form of hello, trying to sound detached, as if he hadn’t picked up on the first ring.

The inquietude wailing inside Aziraphale urged to be let out, but now he felt very shy. He wanted desperately to call, but now he didn’t know what to say.

“What do you waaaant, Angeeeeel?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale resorted to whispers, not wanting to risk being heard. Why couldn’t he just wait until morning? By then he would be undoubtedly alone and this call would be made in much more peace. “Are you drunk? You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Aaand what ifff I aaam?”

Well, don’t be drinking without me. Did I make you that upset? Please, I’m so distraught I want to cry. Are you with someone? “Nothing,” he ended up saying. “There’s nothing to it.”

“Good.”

A pause. Aziraphale could hear Crowley gulping on the other side of the line.

“Wannaaa—” a hiccup “—join me?”

Yes, please. “I, er… I can’t.”

“Aah. So the husband is still there.”

“Yes.”

“Figured.” Another session of gulps. It seemed Crowley was on a roll. “Tell me, Angel. Are you bedding him tonight? Did you already? Did you fuck him good? What the fucking hell do you even see on that bloody, bitchy, arrogant archangel anyway?”

Aziraphale flustered. Crowley’s voice was alluring naturally, but when he was worked up like that it was simply bewitching. Besides, Aziraphale never told Gabriel that, but lately he was finding curse words to be kind of… hot. “We’re soulmates,” Aziraphale said, the same way he had said dozens of times. “Our union was—”

“Officiated by the Almighty Herself, yes, I know,” Crowley cut him off. “After the war, might I fffucking add. When half of Heaven had faaallen. What makes you so sure you two are really soulmates when, when— _half_ the competition wasn’t even there anymore?” Me included, Aziraphale could hear, but that was left unsaid. “Also, free will and shit.”

“Crowley, why are you saying those things?”

“I don’t know, free will and shit. Why are you even calling me, Aziraphale? Your side of the bed is gonna get cold.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth with one hand, trying to suppress a sob and failing miserably. He shouldn’t have called Crowley. What good was that doing for any of them? He shouldn’t have left the bed. At least Gabriel hadn’t woken up, he could still go back and pretend nothing was happening.

(The same way I am doing for, what, a thousand years? Maybe more?)

“Anyway,” Crowley’s voice came much more subdued, soft, even. Was he feeling guilty? Oh, no, he shouldn’t. He did nothing wrong. Aziraphale was the only one with reasons to feel guilty. “How ‘bout the Ritz, huh? The two of us, good food, good wine, good music. If we go right now, it’s still gonna be open. How ‘bout that, Angel?”

Aziraphale needed a minute to calm down. It was difficult to find his voice, and when he did, it sounded pathetic. “Crowley, I can’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, the husssband is there. I’m sssorry, I forgot.”

Aziraphale knew that was a lie. “…Yes.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it.”

“Gabriel being here?”  
“You, married. I don’t like it.”

“I’ve been married for six thousand years.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Maybe when it’s seven thousand years I can accept it.” A pause. “Nah, don’t think I’ll like it by then either.”

Aziraphale suppressed a chuckle. Trust Crowley to make fun of their… situation. “It feels… stupid, now. To have done it. Called, I mean.”

“No, it wasn’t. I like when you call me. I like when you _tell me things_.” Now Crowley was just picking a fight. They had that argument several times already. You had all the time in the world to tell me, Angel. Mesopotamia. Golgotha. Egypt. Rome. Any random dinner. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. I’m really, really sorry.”

It took Crowley a full minute to break the silence that followed. “You should hang up now. Don’t wanna risk getting caught.”

“I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale climbed the stairs feeling a mix of guilt and, quite frankly, arousal. Crowley had that effect on him. He had never done it, calling the demon in the middle of the night, never would he think he’d do it with his husband asleep upstairs. Perhaps there was some factor in there contributing to the exhilaration, but Aziraphale tried not to dwell on the matter that he apparently was an angel who felt aroused when _dealing with the forbidden_.

He stopped in the kitchen to make some tea, both because he needed to calm his nerves down and because there was no way to know if Gabriel was still asleep. When he mustered the courage to finally enter the bedroom, he sighed in relief. Had his husband woken up and heard him downstairs, Aziraphale didn’t know what he would do. Gabriel only stirred when Aziraphale sat back in the bed.

“Hey,” Gabriel greeted, softly, voice sleep-ridden.

“Hey there. I brought you some tea.”

Gabriel offered him a sweet smile. “I will drink it just because you already made it.”

“And because you want to make me happy,” Aziraphale teased, trying to sound casual.

“That too.” Gabriel laughed. “And also because I love you.”

Aziraphale leaned on Gabriel, who hugged him while they emptied their mugs. He could only hope his discomfort wasn’t showing—it wasn’t the cuddling, no; if anything, being in Gabriel’s arms helped keep him grounded. His discomfort was in everything else.

“My dear?” Aziraphale asked, eventually. 

“Mm?”

“How did we know? That we are soulmates?”

“The Almighty wouldn’t have officiated our union if we weren’t, Aziraphale.”

“Yes. Silly me. Of course.”

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” Aziraphale was very careful with his words. “Sometimes I think about the Split, about the fallen angels… Do you think soulmates were separated by the War? By the Fall?”

Gabriel didn’t give his questions much thought, as Gabriel usually did—it wasn’t to be malicious or dismissive, he was just like that. “No idea. But I don’t think so. If anything, I think it’s more possible they were cast out together. I don’t think the Almighty would allow soulmates to live separated.”

Cue Crowley and Aziraphale being the only ones permanently stationed on Earth, Aziraphale thought, and shook that thought away immediately. He also shook away the thought following this first one, which was: one hundred and thirty years. And it wasn’t like it had been much better before that, either.

“What brought up all this wondering, sweetheart?”

Aziraphale did his best to shrug in a very nonchalant way. “Sometimes I just get lost in thoughts… I don’t like the idea of anyone missing a… a piece.”

“My principality.” Gabriel kissed his shoulder, an open mouthed kiss, full of meaning. “Always so sympathetic to others' causes.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help leaning on the touch. He was so horny, and Gabriel was, well: “You’re sexy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah…”

“What else?”

“You’re sexy, and—aah, strong, beautiful. You’re the—oh—most beautiful archangel.” Aziraphale went through the arsenal of words he knew Gabriel liked the most. “Your muscles, I love them. Aah! Your body. I love when you hold me down with your strength and just—mhmm—take me. I love your penis inside me. And your eyes, Gabriel, I love the color of your eyes.”

Gabriel pulled him back on the bed and placed Aziraphale under him. He was generous with his kisses and ministrations. He pinned both of Aziraphale’s hands above their heads and rolled his hips, their erections rubbing slowly, so slowly, the very way Gabriel enjoyed making love.

Aziraphale took the opportunity of being held immobile to let his mind wander. He was too out of it, too aroused to even judge his own reveries, so he allowed himself to imagine red, long curls instead of short, dark hair; serpentine tongue instead of humanoid; curse words instead of praises; golden eyes instead of purple. Would sex with Crowley be filthy? Would Crowley take him unceremoniously, the way Aziraphale thought demons preferred? Or would he be gentle and caring, the way Crowley was—the way he truly was, not what he tried to show around—everyday?

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice brought him back from his fantasies, but only slightly. Aziraphale straddled Gabriel’s hips and allowed him in with one swift motion, making Gabriel moan loudly. “Aziraphale, oh. Tell me what you want, my love.”

Crowley. Oh, he wanted Crowley. Aziraphale rode Gabriel hard and fast, in sync with the chant in his mind: Crowley, Crowley, Crowley… 

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale managed to say in place of the truth. Gabriel was a moaning mess under him. Aziraphale closed his eyes again.

Would Crowley—Anthony, Aziraphale would call him Anthony. In his imagination, Anthony was the kind of lover who melted with displays of intimacy, and what better way to show him that than to call him by his recently adopted first name?

Would Anthony like to be like this? To have Aziraphale riding him? Aziraphale would ride him like crazy, as if he were the last cock he was allowed to have. What if Anthony rode him instead? Oh, goodness, what if Anthony presented a vulva down there? Aziraphale would eat him out for a whole night, he would—

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel called him again, nearly ruining everything, but not quite. He was hot like this, begging with his eyes, trashing under Aziraphale.

“Come on, my dear. You’re so beautiful when you let yourself go for me. Come on, show me how much you love me. Come for me, Gabriel.”

It wasn’t exactly the dirty talk Aziraphale was imagining at that moment, but it did the trick anyway. He was used to it. He enjoyed it, frankly. All he said was true: Gabriel was so incredibly hot, he was simply stunning when he came undone deep inside Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn’t shout his orgasm this time.

The second time Aziraphale woke up post lovemaking, the sun was already high in the sky. He was alone. Heaven was strict with its rules: one day meant exactly twenty four hours, not a second more. Aziraphale tried not to feel too guilty when he sighed in relief, but it was difficult.

Gabriel left him a letter on the bedside table. It contained promises to meet again soon, as well as requests for Aziraphale to at least consider assuming a position up in Heaven, all written in Enochian.

Aziraphale wished he had been more moved by his husband’s words.

Not that he wasn’t moved in the _slightest_ , it’s just that… 

Could he even come up with an excuse anymore?

Aziraphale considered staying in bed all day. Crowley enjoyed sleeping for days at a time, sometimes even years, perhaps there was something real nice about it. Perhaps it was healing. He trashed and turned, but everything seemed more annoying than relaxing, from the touch of the sheets against his skin to the noise of Soho outside his window.

He needed to be somewhere else. What good would it do to stay put all day?

Aziraphale finally relented and took a cab for the first time that day. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience, but his destination was too far away to just walk there—he couldn’t wait that long, not with his nerves like this. He wouldn’t risk a miracling himself there. And he wouldn’t risk tainting whatever was left of what he still had with another improper phone call.

Crowley’s new apartment was a beautiful thing in a fancy part of London. Mayfair, if Aziraphale recalled correctly. Aziraphale had only visited once, when Crowley moved in, and it was just a quick thing, just to welcome him to the new place.

Aziraphale was half expecting Crowley wouldn’t open the door, certainly the demon felt his presence the same way the angel felt his.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, hurriedly, when the door opened, needing to take this out of his chest first. “I was improper. I didn’t think about your feelings, I just thought about myself. I really, really wanted to hear your voice, but I acted on impulse and not with consideration. I’m so deeply sorry.”

Crowley shrugged, trying to appear as if he didn’t care. Aziraphale knew better. Angels couldn’t enter demons’ inner thoughts the same way they couldn’t do to other angels, but they could still sense a handful of feelings if they tried hard enough, such as love, hurt, sadness, relief. Crowley was feeling all of these things.

“What do you want, Angel?”

“Let me make it up to you. Let me take you somewhere, hmm? You can yell at me. You can pretend the food is terrible and insult the cook, I’ll be quiet. You can even break something ugly and expensive and put the blame on me. I’ll even pay.”

Crowley crossed his arms and scrutinized Aziraphale. “Is the husband gone now?”

“Yes. Just this morning. Just a few hours ago.”

“I can see by the bed hair and the rumpled clothes. You reek of sex, Angel. I won’t go anywhere with you smelling like that.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale’s shoulder slumped. He had miracled himself clean and tidy before leaving the bookshop. He knew Crowley was just being prickly. He did it when he was sad.

Crowley took a step back and motioned him to step inside. “Well, since you can’t miracle yourself clean properly, you can use my shower.”

“Oh. Yes, okay, I can do that.”

Crowley made a quick job of setting him up in the shower. Even his bathroom was fancy. Crowley left him his own cologne, a silent command—no, a _plea_ for Aziraphale to erase everything that belonged to reality, to make it feel as if he was Crowley’s.

Aziraphale followed his instructions. Anything to help Crowley like he was the one, not the _other one_.

Crowley was waiting for him in the living room, dressed in a new set of clothes, when Aziraphale was done. Aziraphale could tell he was feeling both disappointment and anticipation, and a lot more of relief than before.

“So, where are you planning on taking me? You promised somewhere fancy. And let me tell you now: I _will_ be breaking things. Your idea, don’t complain.”

“Let me take you to—” The Eiffel Tower. Let me miracle the entire place, the entire _city_ empty for us, let me take you up there and make you feel loved. Because you are, you are, I can’t, but I do, and you are— “You know what? You should be allowed to choose what expensive thing you’re gonna break. Where do you want to go, my dear?”

Crowley didn’t answer him, just left through the door. Aziraphale couldn’t help beaming as he followed the demon. This was fine, he told himself. No need to ask for forgiveness, no need to feel all those bad things he felt yesterday. He was just having some feelings, that’s all. Didn’t mean he was going to act on them.

He wasn’t gonna do anything.

(Yet, Angel.)

**Author's Note:**

> I’d love to know your thoughts after reading this!


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